She Was Given The World
by Olive Tree Hugger
Summary: A friendship she wished would last forever. Sugarless Gum/ Bubbeline.


It couldn't be.

It just couldn't freaking be.

Marceline's heart raced the heart monitor beside the bed. She stared at the thin green line peak and move forward slowly, beeping every few seconds. A pale hand was settled on the white sheets. Under the white sheets was a pink-haired head. Marceline glanced downwards at Bonnibel, the young genius barely breathing through the tube lodged in her throat. Her purple eyelids were shut, unmoving in the slightest. Her nose was broken, wrapped in bandages, still in need of plastic surgery. A jagged, angry red cut ran along her temple and down one cheek.

The rest of Bonnibel's body was much, much worse.

The semi-truck had dragged her across the pavement about twelve feet. Trapped under one huge, extremely heavy wheel, she was still wide awake and felt every moment of tremendous agony. Her ribs, one by one, had snapped and broken. Her lungs were punctured so deeply that a respirator was required to breathe for her. Her heart barely beat anymore, rather pumping dark red, thick blood. There was no oxygen supply for Bonnibel between the accident and the ride to the hospital. The doctors said that if she ever woke up, she would be severely retarded.

Her arms and legs were mangled. One hand's fingers were sheared off completely, leaving the hand a bloody stump of a protrusion. Her hips were cracked and her spin was twisted. If she were to come to, Bonnibel would never walk again.

The nurses came to her regularly, cleaning her, washing her wounds, injecting her with morphine because, even though Bonnibel's mental capacity was gone, she could still feel pain. Immensely. They turned her over gently to soothe her bed sores. They massaged her legs and arms, and that stubby lump they still called a hand, so it would continue to live. The staff even cleaned her teeth with a wet cloth daily. They took care of her, and yet, Marceline couldn't stop the remorse from tugging at her heart strings.

During visiting hours, she leaned over Bonnibel and stroked her pink hair. She hummed little tunes to her, hoping, _praying_ that she could hear Marceline. She would cry, cry her soul out in pain. It ached to see Bonnibel so helpless, so useless. Just a few days ago, she was sitting beside her on the bleachers at school, singing and giggling and eating gelato. She was alive and well and smiling. But now…now Marceline was looking at a dead girl. There was no hope for her.

Bonnibel's parents found out about the accident on their way to her school. It was the science fair, and the genius should have been there to present her project. But Marceline, always the rebel, convinced her best friend to play hooky. The two were crossing the street when a rogue truck driver whizzed past Marceline and struck Bonnibel head on.

The Gum family visited their daughter less often than Marceline did. It's not that they didn't care, because Cora and Arty Gum adored their little inventor. They sent her to the best schools, got her whatever equipment she needed for a project, and loved her endlessly. When Cora found out that Marceline had taken Bonnibel out, the woman went raving mad with grief. She clawed at the girl, screamed "dyke", "bitch" and "murderer" at her, before collapsing in a heap of tears and hopeless cries.

Marceline had to leave the room rather than face the parents of the girl she'd ruined. Perhaps she had not physically committed the act, but if it weren't for her, Bonnibel would be well, laughing and walking and going to college.

The thought of Bonnibel holding mug of Nescafe with her university's logo made Marceline smile to herself, something she rarely did anymore. Bonnibel loved school. She worked hard to achieve great things, one of them being a Yale student. She would've attended next fall.

Her eyes welled up when she remembered the day Bonnibel received her acceptance letter.

_Her house was always nicer than Marceline's dump. So clean, so classy, and Bonnibel was always the same. Marceline loved the scent of her cinnamon and vanilla perfume. She liked to tell her that. Bonnibel would blush and swat away her hands, saying, "Stop it, Marcy." The pale Goth would wink at her in return. They were sitting in Cora's kitchen, awaiting the coffee to finish brewing when Bonnibel's father walked in holding a white envelope in his hand. _

"_Bonnibel," he said, "It's Yale. Do you want me to open it?"_

_The girl nearly fell off of her seat in surprise. She hurriedly snatched the envelope from him and panted, "Oh my gosh! I've been waiting all month for this!"_

_She held it close to her heart for a moment, eyes clenched tight. Marceline laughed. It was Bonnibel's way of praying. _

_Then she ripped it open, running her purple eyes over the paper. Marceline watched her with anticipation. Bonnibel was a genius; getting straight A's was like drinking water to her. She _had_ to get in._

_Bonnibel's squeal of joy confirmed her thoughts. She jumped up and down, screeching, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, I'm a Yale student! Ahhh!"_

_The Goth and the genius hugged, squeezing each other tightly and crying and screaming. Marceline reveled in the feeling of her body pressed to hers. She wanted the embrace to linger, to take a deep whiff of her perfume, to feel their hearts close together, but Bonnibel was more interested in school. She pulled away from Marceline and went to go hug her father._

_Marceline never felt lonelier at that moment._

When Marceline woke up next, the sun was just setting. Bonnibel was still in her comatose state. The Goth felt her face warm up with sadness. A nurse walked in, her white shoes creaking against the tile floor.

"Come one, kid, you've been here all day. Go home, get some rest," she said.

"I'm not tired," Marceline replied coldly, still staring at her non-responsive friend.

The nurse sighed, shaking her head. "Visiting hours are over anyways. You want to be dragged out kicking and screaming?"

Marceline felt her stomach growl, only remembering then that she hadn't eaten in nearly 48 hours.

She reached up to touch her head, wincing at the itchy, oily sensation she felt. When was the last time she'd bathed? Probably two weeks ago, since the accident.

"Come on, kid," the nurse droned, "I've got to bathe her. I'll take care of your girlfriend."

Marceline raised her eyebrow. She wished. "She's not…my girlfriend," she muttered.

She wished. She really did.

She wished it would rain. She wished the world would acknowledge Bonnibel in the slightest. But the sky was bright blue, the clouds fluffy and drifting as usual. The birds chirped, the chipmunks chattered, but Marceline could not sing along. She stood in the back of the cemetery, wearing her black dress, holding back her tears, as she watched the funeral proceed. Her heart was heavy and clenched for her. She didn't deserve this.

**An intelligent, beautiful young prospect for Yale,** they said. **A speaker of four languages, an author of one children's' book, a phenomenal singer, and a perfect daughter; Bonnibel was an angel. She ascended to be with God, and was finally at peace after all her suffering. **

After the mourners left, Marceline approached Bonnibel's recently dug grave and focused on the engraving:

"_Here Lies Bonnibel Cassandra Gum, beloved daughter, niece and student. Our Father in Heaven, please watch over this angel. May she rest in peace. B. 1994-2013."_

The Goth took in a ragged, deep breath and felt her insides shatter. Bonnibel was really gone. Her parents didn't want their daughter suffering by herself anymore. They pulled the plug just before Marceline walked in, holding her guitar to play her best friend a song.

Marceline's face contorted as the sobs tumbled out of her lips. She covered her face, her inner being threatening to explode from her skin. God, it hurt so much. Bonnibel would never laugh with her again. Bonnibel would never hug her when she cried. She would never kiss her cheek again.

Her sobs only slightly lessening, she belted out a short tune, the one she never got to play for her.

"**I know you're going to need me here with you, **

**But I'm losing myself and I afraid you're going to lose me too.**

**Please forgive me for whatever I do, **

**When I don't remember you,"**

Another fresh batch of tears left Marceline's body, her soft gasps the only sound in the cemetery. _I'm sorry, _she kept thinking, _I'm so sorry._ She whispered a confession to the gravestone, imagining the pink-haired genius sitting in front of her.

"I always loved you, Bonnibel," she muttered.

She imagined the soft pink lips against her cheek, and a sparkle in those purple eyes. "I love you, too."

* * *

**Ugh. I hate myself for this. I almost cried. And I know I borrowed "I Remember You" lyrics, but I felt like that would match both Bonnibel's and Marceline's thoughts. Anyways, review!**


End file.
